


If You Want it Done Right...

by BastardBin



Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Corrupt police, F/F, Fluff, Kidnapping, Multi, Past Character Death, Threatened Torture, Undercover Missions, an oddly abundant use of cellphones, going under the nose of the law bc fuck those guys, i browsed r/rarethreats to write that part it was great, its not that dark though, marginally illegal activities, thanks cleo, thanks thug guy, the girls take care of each other and they're soft, theres also a bit of language, this has mystery thriller book vibes thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin
Summary: In a world where the crimes of the powerful are ignored and the supernatural may not be as impossible as the average person would expect, the Hermit girls take it upon themselves to investigate and track down the whereabouts of their missing friend.Even illegal underground sleuths need rest, though, if they want to complete their mission without incident. No one can solve a kidnapping in one night, no matter how much they may want to.
Relationships: Cubfan135/GoodTimesWithScar (Video Blogging RPF), False/Stress/Cleo
Comments: 25
Kudos: 67





	If You Want it Done Right...

**Author's Note:**

> i realized i've never written the hermit girls together and it was a travesty so i fixed it and then plot happened  
> might make it a series bc hoo boy im invested in this au now

“I would suggest,” She drags out slowly, her voice like a sharpened knife grating along a wall, her eyes burning with calculated, cold anger. She cocks her head as she speaks, blonde locks swaying in the piercing light, lips forming around a threat. “That you start talking.”

She’s met with defiance, an unremarkable mug of a face twisted into a mocking, haughty smirk; the kind that only the stubborn and the stupid wear in her presence. “Yeah, and who says I have to listen to a bitch like you? Go back to your boyfriend, unless you’re looking for a better one.” He sneers back, his already distasteful features marred ever more by the gross way he leers at her, eyes trailing up and down her frame like she’s something on a shelf. From the shadows at the edges of the room, there’s a snort. It’s punctuated by her leaning in closer, her hand finding its grip on the back of his chair, and to his credit the man leans away from her looming, icy glare.

“How cute.” She comments, her voice flat. With her free hand, she reaches out, taking his chin between her fingers with a deceptively gentle grip, her lips stretching into a smile. The sight of it feels like it makes the room itself colder, and she doesn’t miss the confliction of fear trying to show on his face. “You still think you have options, don’t you?”

“You think your buddies will come and get you, huh? That they’ll come busting in here any minute to free your smarmy hide?” Another voice echoes from the darkness, and the man lurches at the birdsong sound, pulling against his binds in an attempt to see past blue eyes and golden hair.

“Who’s there?” He demands, his voice bordering on a command, anger and entitlement to the answer laced through his tone. At the sound of it, she tightens her grip, that deceptively soft touch turning into a crushing threat as she tugs him closer. Her eyes bore into him, her patience gone.

“You’re going to tell me where they’re keeping him, or we’re going to tie you up with pretty little pink bows and deliver you right to our boss like a gift wrapped piece of garbage for him to put through the shredder as he sees fit.” She smiles sweetly, as if she’d just invited his grandmother to a picnic. “And you don’t want that.”

But he only scoffs, unbroken. “Yeah? I bet your pimp would be real scary under my boot when I’m done with him.”

“Mmm, yes, I’ll be sure to let the Goatfather know you said that about him. I’m sure he’ll get quite a kick out of it.” At the sound of his name, the man blanches, fear drenching over him in an instant, and her smile stretches all the wider. Bingo.

“Hey, hey now, no need to get drastic, uh…” He shrinks under her hold, sweating. “What was it you needed?”

“Tell us where you’re keeping him.”

“Keeping him? Him who? Never met a him in my life.” He blabbers, looking away, and she sighs. “Wouldn’t know a thing, nothin to report to your boss here, nope.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling past her, clamming up. Even despite the way he fidgets in his restraints, the way the fear radiates off of him as strongly as the lack of shampoo he doesn’t use, he doesn’t admit anything. She’s well and fully over his stalling, his attempts at waiting for rescue that she personally knows won’t be coming for him, and stands back up straight again. Inclining her head toward the shadows, she speaks away from him.

“Would you bring me the pliers? He wants to do it the hard way.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the way his fidgeting ceases, a horrified expression beginning to seep through his mask of stubborn confidence. She looks at him, directly, before speaking again. “Oh, no, it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m going to teach you exactly how many bones can be forcibly removed from the human body without their previous host dying, and trust me, you’d be surprised by the number.”

His eyes grow wider with every word, looking just about ready to escape his body themselves, and his stare is fixated on her as she leans into his personal space again.

“I hope they taught you how to count before you dropped out of kindergarten, or else you’re going to learn a lot of new numbers today.”

A distinctly pale,  _ too _ pale hand appears from the shadows, old and rusted pliers in hand, and he finally breaks at the sight of it.

“Okay okay! I’ll tell you everything I know, just please don’t hurt me.” He pleads, shrinking further into his binds, his previously large and intimidating presence reduced to nothing more than a quivering shred of fear. Internally, she scoffs; these thugs are always the same, all confidence until they’re stripped of the brute strength that makes up their entire personality.

“Out with it, then. I’m getting bored.” She snaps, taking the offered pliers as a continued threat, letting them rest plainly in sight on her hip. The movement makes him shudder, lurching desperately away from her as words rush to escape his mouth.

“We were hired to make him disappear! I don’t know what he did, but he was in someone’s way. They wanted him gone.”

Bending at the waist, she leans closer again, fixing him with an unimpressed stare. “We already knew that, or we wouldn’t be here. You better start giving details before you lose your chance.”

“I don’t know who it was! Whoever it was never spoke to us directly, they sent people of their own like messengers. The boss didn’t wanna trust it, y’know, taking jobs from some faceless somebody that could have been a cop, but they paid enough he let it slide.” The man turns his head, scoffing mostly to himself, “Clearly it was a bad idea.”

“Where’d you take him?”

He turns back to her, leveling her with a steady look. “There were a lot of steps, lots of security. Whoever wanted this guy gone, they don’t want him found. We handed him off to a different group at the docks, someone else’s men.”

“Was he alive?”

“Yeah. He went along quietly enough, just asked us not to hurt his cat.” The man shrugs. “I don’t know how someone like that got himself into whatever he did to get someone that powerful after his skin.”

His words ring true, and she winces. Shaking it off for later, she pushes further, already seeing green eyes glowing out of the darkness behind his chair. “Is that everything? Do you know who it was you handed him off to?”

“No clue. Another group of hires like us, but I didn’t recognize em. They were probably from another city somewhere else on the coast, seeing as we did hand him over at the docks. I don’t know where they went, we left before they did.” He continues talking, completely unaware of the pale form creeping up behind him, holding eye contact with her. “If I had to guess, they probably took him down to the port city south, the one with all the factories. A lot of people get passed through there. If you wanna find your boyfriend, that’s the place you should look.”

Rolling her eyes at the boyfriend comment again, she leans back, folding her arms to watch the scene about to unfold before her. “Thank you for your cooperation. You have the Goatfather’s appreciation.” She tells him, civilly, giving just the slightest of nods. He doesn’t have time to say anything before he’s jumped, his face disappearing behind a clothed hand, and his struggles don’t last long before he slumps in their grip.

“That was  _ fantastic _ .” Bright red lips stretch across pearly white teeth in a bright smile, beaming up at her with what looks like pride shining in those previously glowing eyes. “We should let you be the interrogator more often, Falsie.”

She sounds like she genuinely means it, her teeth almost appearing sharp in the light as she smiles ever wider at the blonde. False just gives a soft laugh back at her, turning away with the slightest feeling of embarrassment at the praise. “I think I prefer to leave it up to you. You’re better at doing the scary bad cop thing.” She admits, looking down at the pliers in her hand that she never had any intention of actually using.

“No, Cleo is right. I think creatively unique bluff threats are my new favorite way to watch either of you get information.”

They both turn at the sound of the new voice, and False feels some of her tension ease away at the sight of the kind brunette joining them. She smiles softly at both girls in the light, before her gentle gaze lands on their unfortunate captive.

“Poor guy will probably have nightmares over all this.” She tilts her head, raising a hand to her chin in thought. “Although, he did say some awfully nasty things, so I think it’s fair.”

“He also kidnapped Scar, Stress. Don’t forget that part.” Cleo adds, gesturing for emphasis with the hand still holding the rag that knocked him out. “That is a very important part.”

“... Good point.”

“We should  _ probably _ not sit here and chat like hens in front of him.” False interjects, finally, eyeing the thug. He twitches in his passed out state, not too far from waking up. “We should find somewhere to put him, let his friends find him.”

“Oh, I’ve got that covered.” Cleo disappears back into the shadows, her footsteps echoing through the room, followed soon by the sound of the light switch. The rest of the room floods into sight around them, including the pile of the man’s items confiscated from him earlier. She holds up a cellphone from the lot of it. “We can just set him up here and let him call his buddies to get him when he wakes up.”

“You’re sure what you knocked him out with won’t hurt him?” Stress asks, worry still managing to creep into her voice despite everything he did and said. False can’t help but smile, looking at her; kind as always, that one.

“Yeah, Cub made sure it was safe. He doesn’t want any incidents under Scar’s name, or anything that could lead back to all of us. You know how it would be, especially right now.”

Stress says nothing, only untying the man and hefting him into her strong arms to move to a nearby couch. False would be lying if she tried to claim her eyes didn’t stay glued to the brunette’s arms the entire time, of the way her back muscles visibly flex even underneath her cardigan, but judging by the way Cleo’s gaze follows her across the room, she’s not the only one staring. She sets the man onto the couch gently, arranging him in a way that looks as comfortable as can be managed in an old factory break room like this, and even settles a nearby cushion under his head. Cleo snorts.

“You’re too nice, Stress. You can’t just mom the captive we’re supposed to interrogate about our missing friend.” She teases, and Stress turns to her, giving her the cheekiest little smile False has ever seen.

“Watch me! And for the record, you already  _ did _ interrogate him, so it doesn’t count.”

Cleo blinks, staring at Stress for a moment, before barking out a laugh. “I can’t argue with that, I guess.” She chuckles, turning back to the cellphone and making sure it has enough charge before setting it plainly in sight to be found later.

“Do we have everything we need?” False asks, looking around. They didn’t bring much with them, and nothing is out of place besides the hired thug’s own items in the corner. She glances at the pliers in her hand, and, with the thought of fingerprints, tucks it into the back of her jeans. “We should get out of here before he starts to wake up.”

Cleo nods, and is the first to lead the way out of the room, easing the door open and disappearing into the dark of the hallway. False follows to the door, but waits for Stress to join her, gently guiding the brunette out ahead of her with a hand on that toned back. Because of it, she doesn’t miss the way Stress glances back once more into the room, that same worried, motherly look on her face that she seems to direct onto any living creature she meets.

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” She asks again, and False continues guiding her out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine, just a bit shaken.” The blonde reassures her, following the sound of Cleo’s eerily echoing footsteps as she leads the way through the darkened, abandoned factory. Ahead of them, she can occasionally see the flash of green eyes in the darkness as Cleo looks around, the otherworldly glow that would make anyone else terrified only reassuring False with her location in the dark. “I think he’ll just be relieved he got off injury free and alive, especially after we spooked him with Doc’s underground name.”

“You’re right.” Stress agrees, lapsing into silence for a moment and just letting False hold her as they follow Cleo. Then she gasps, her voice pitching up with excitement. “Oh! Maybe we could send him a Christmas card to apologize.”

Ahead of them, Cleo groans audibly, a long suffering kind of sound. It makes Stress’s cheeks go pink, and False can feel a fond chuckle bubbling up in her throat over the both of them. She rubs at Stress’s shoulder softly.

“Maybe we will. Let’s focus on Scar first, though.”

A grating, groaning sound of rusted metal on rusted metal fills their ears as Cleo pushes the nearest door open, casting the two behind her in the flickering light of a street lamp. She holds the heavy and stubborn door with ease, her form silhouetted against the light, eyes glowing again as bright spots of green as she turns to watch them. It’s like a scene from a movie; a horror movie, False’s mind starts to supply, before she vehemently shakes the correlation away with a vengeance.

The night air is cool and still around them as they step out, the street empty on this side of town. Nothing but abandoned, rusting buildings to see for miles around, nothing but the result of the town moving on elsewhere in more recent decades. It was the perfect place to bring their captive, not a soul around to hear something they shouldn’t. Not that the girls can’t handle swearing a witness or two to silence on their own, but they don’t need to risk it right now. They’re in hot water enough already as it is, and they all know full well who will be blamed if anything goes wrong in this venture.

“Where to?” Stress asks, keys in hand and door handle in the other. She’s looking at False, waiting for direction; asking if they’re going to continue this tonight.

It’s late, she knows, but the blonde still winces at the digital three digits that glare at her from the too-bright screen of her phone. She doesn’t answer as her fingers swipe over the screen, clicking a password into place and drawing up her contacts, searching for advice higher than her own. A number on the screen rings once before it’s picked up.

“What did you find out?” The voice is desperate, rushed. Worried. The spike of sympathy she feels matches with her own worry, and she can only imagine Cub staying up all night waiting to hear any kind of word about his partner, his hands fidgeting in a search for something he can’t find.

There’s a muffled meow from further away, she’s guessing his lap, and she changes that mental image to him stress-petting Jellie. His voice goes muffled as well, but she can still make out the words as he talks to the cat, reassuring her that they’re looking for her owner, that False is calling about exactly that.

“Not a lot, but we have a start.” False tells him, hearing a shuffling as he scrambles to press the phone fully back to his face to hear. “We need to head to some port city south of here, the guy said it was full of factories? I can tell you the rest in person.”

“Is he alive?” The question is instant, and from the silence, she knows he’s holding his breath.

“As far as we know, yes.”

There’s a stuttered sigh, something equally torn between relief and just continued stress. It’s the sound of a weight being lifted, but compared to the worry still on him, it’s only as much as a little rock compared to a mountain. But it’s a start, just like everything else laid out ahead of them from here.

“What should we do? We can head out tonight, get ahead of any word of where we’re going before our… friend, tells his buddies.” She asks, inclining her head toward the still-lit room upstairs in the factory. On second thought, she decides, they should be gone before he wakes up. She waves a hand to her girls as she talks, climbing into the car. “But we don’t have a ship, and the public lines don’t open for at least four hours.”

Cub sighs, and she can just imagine him dragging a hand down his face. With a complaintive meow, she can imagine it being returned to petting Jellie, just as soothing for the stressed cat as it is her second owner. “I can get you a ship, but who knows how long you’re going to be over there looking for him. Go home for now and get some rest while you can, and I’ll have you some boarding passes in the morning.”

The buildings pass by, getting more and more familiar as Stress mostly aimlessly zigzags in the vague direction of their apartment, just on autopilot as she waits for a destination to be told. With a glance in the mirror, double checking there’s no one behind them, False waves a hand to the brunette that they’re going home.

“You should get some sleep too, Cub.” She advises, softly. He sounds exhausted, a special level of stress coursing through him that few will ever experience; it’s with a glance in the rearview, at the green eyes glowing in the half light and watching her, that she’s reminded she knows exactly what it’s like. “I know it’s hard, but you should try.”

Cub laughs. It’s a dry, humorless sound. “You know that isn’t going to happen. I can’t sleep on a normal night, much less with all of this going on.” As he speaks, she can hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background. Knowing him, he’ll be up all night, digging for any shred of information as he can from the digital side of things. On the bright side, if they’re lucky, he’ll have security footage for them to go off of by the time they land in the next city.

She knows him, anyway. She knows he isn’t going to sleep until they find Scar, no matter what she does or says to him. It makes her feel guilty to go back for rest of their own now, but as they sit at a red light, Stress’s yawning reminds her that she has a team to care for and not just herself. She can’t push them like she used to push herself, and she can’t push herself to a point of being useless when she has them to protect. Her eyes wander to the green ones in the rearview; she’s already learned her lesson once.

“Get some sleep, you three. You’re the ones on the ground, you’ll be the ones to bring him home.” Cub’s voice goes soft, almost reverent. She can  _ feel _ how much he trusts and believes in them to bring Scar home to him, and for a man that just wants to do everything on his own, she knows how much that means. “Goodnight, Falsie.”

“Goodnight Cub. Good luck.” She adds the last bit quickly, and for a moment, there’s silence on the other line; Cub hesitating on saying something else or not. But then the call ends, and she’s left staring at a contact with an ID photo of what should be the  _ two _ people that could be reached on this number, not one. Smiles from a happier time, from before one was taken away from them all, just because some entitled sore loser can’t stand Scar being better than them.

“We’ll find him, don’t worry.” Cleo’s voice echoes from the back. It’s soft, but laced with a threat that False knows full well the redhead won’t hesitate to use on anyone at fault for this. Sighing, False tries to let some of the stressed tension escape her, though it doesn’t work. Stress reaches over, taking her hand and rubbing reassuring circles into it.

“Cleo is right. But for now, just like Cub said, it’s rest time. We’ll do more in the morning.” Stress adds, and False doesn’t know if her volume was high enough to be overheard, or if Stress just guessed based on context and familiarity what he told them to do for now. She turns down her volume either way, just in case.

She doesn’t reply, and neither of the other two say anything further. A taut quiet pulls over them, the air comfortable between them but with an undercurrent of the worry they’re all feeling, even if they’re not really showing it. Stress shows it in her silence; her usual upbeat and motherly attitude dampened to a silent, thoughtful gaze. Cleo, on the other hand, shows it in the way her glare has turned down to her own phone, her pale fingers tapping just a bit too hard as she updates who False would assume to be Joe on their safety.

Lights and intersections pass in a familiar blur, the usual route Stress always takes passing with little recognition in False’s mind. Her thoughts wander, worries and questions bouncing around in her head for their missing friend. The Hermits are close people, even if they don’t live together or see every member all that often. Scattered about the city, as distant or close as they may be, they’re family. And the fact that someone would target one for his budding success, make him disappear in what Doc guessed is something to gain for themselves in his absence, makes her blood boil.

So, too, does the look of hopeless desperation on Xisuma’s face, burned into her mind as it is. He tried, and is still trying, so hard to go through the law. To beg them for help, to plead with them to take Scar’s missing persons case more seriously, only to be promised false reassurances that she knows all too well they have no intention of keeping. Just as she had no intention of actually hurting the man they spoke to, the police have no intention of looking for the missing Hermit. Not when, Doc guessed, it was someone powerful that made him disappear in the first place; someone with the little blue men in his pocket, playing with them like toys to do with as he pleases.

There is no true justice, not like this, and Xisuma can’t do a damn thing about it. Bound as he is to the laws, to doing everything right for the good of all of his scattered members, lest going beneath the supposed all righteous hand of the law bring forth punishment to his entire community. He can’t go under the police’s nose to find his missing Hermit, to ignore their words to stay out of it and investigate for himself, when he has the good of all of them as a whole to worry about.

Doc and the girls, on the other hand, have no such obligation. If all everyone else is going to do is cover up Scar being kidnapped and made to disappear just because one selfish person with a known name says so, then they’ll find him themselves.

“Hey, Falsie,” Stress’s voice cuts through her stewing thoughts, jarring her back to reality. The car isn’t moving anymore. “We’re home.”

“Right.” False mumbles back, shoving the phone she’d been idly fiddling with back into her pocket. Cleo has already vanished from the backseat, most likely already ahead of them just like before, but this time it’s Stress that slings a caring and guiding arm around False. It makes her feel secure, quieting some of the nerves that inevitably come with the disappearance of a close friend. The night air around them is silent, interspersed only with the dampened sounds of an almost-sleeping city, and the looming darkness is just that; a quiet night, with nothing waiting for them around the corner. No late night boogeymen to drag them away into the pits of nothingness, living shadows to lurk under their bed in the way children fear.

The scariest thing in their world, after all, is people. Not the dark.

The door is unlocked when they reach it, only barely nudged closed. On any normal day, it would set False’s senses on fire, plunging her into ice in a way that only prey would know, but she carefully folds the feeling up and sets it aside when it tries to arise. She knows it’s Cleo, and that rationality is proven when Stress pushes open the door and tugs her in, the redhead standing just off the doorway inside. There’s a click behind them as Stress pushes it closed, and locks it, letting False’s guard fall entirely with the sound.

“I’ll get dinner going.” Stress speaks up first, her voice echoing in the dark, lifeless apartment as she sets her keys up on the hook. She pulls False close for just a moment with the arm still around her, pressing a gentle peck to the blonde’s cheek, before pulling away and walking down the hall. “We have some fish in the freezer, or maybe some pasta? What are you in the mood for, Falsie?”

“Whatever’s fastest.” False shrugs back, not really interested in the idea of food but knowing she’ll need it in the days ahead of them. Her eyes trail to Cleo, standing just in the turn of the wall between the entrance and the den. She’s half undressed already, her long sweatshirt she’s been forced to wear in public bunched now in her hands, the grayish color of her skin all too obvious in the artificial light of the kitchen down the hall. It’s dotted across with scars, pale and never seeming fully healed, bringing violently back to mind the image of that place False never wants to think about again, yet which comes to mind every single day anyway.

Cleo catches her staring. She always does.

She says nothing. False has nothing to say, either. It’s all been said already, time and time again, never with a new outcome on either of them. Cleo has moved on as best she can tell, but False still bears the nightmares, the flashbacks of that day and all since. In the silence between them, Cleo strides across the stretch of floor between them, pitching her balled up sweater away to wrap her arms around False’s neck.

“You know what I’m going to say.”

“I know.”

A beat passes. False opens her mouth, and Cleo speaks first.

“Don’t.”

Her voice is quiet, contrasting beautifully with the burning fire in her eyes. They glow in this half light of the hall, too, and sometimes False thinks the glow is from her soul itself. Bared open to the world of the living around them, proof of her will, of her refusal to leave it. There’s a challenge in those eyes, the faintest beginnings of a glare; she doesn’t want to hear it again, for the hundredth time. She doesn’t want False to feel the cold guilt that always burns in her ribcage at the very sight of Cleo, though that isn’t enough to make it dissipate, knowing she’s long since forgiven.

It is enough, though, to let False ignore it. She’s grown used to it, or at least as used to it as one can get while saddled with both voided survivor’s guilt and the ever present reminder that she’s the reason Cleo can’t do anything a normal person her age should be able to do. The long sleeves, the leggings, when the old Cleo bore most of her skin to the world without a care; now hidden away, knowing they can’t dare let someone outside of the Hermits know her condition for fear of what they’d do to her.

Someone would make her disappear far faster, and far less likely to ever find her again, than Scar was.

Cleo sighs, leaning in, and False’s thoughts go quiet at the feel of her lips against her own. They’re as cool as the earth, and she doesn’t breathe again save for that sigh, much unlike the way False feels her own heartbeat go wild and take her breath with it at the contact. It gives Cleo the advantage, pinning her up against the wall with a strength the living could only work for, picking False apart piece by piece with nothing but a few simple touches and the delicate, gentle touch of cold lips down her jaw.

The thoughts and worries are a distant memory, something False can’t quite focus on to care about for the moment, not with Cleo’s hands dipping under the hem of her shirt to rub a soothing coolness into her tensed back. Her own hands find their way to bright red hair, soft as it was the last day it grew and just as vivid as it ever was. She’s not sure what the sound that escapes her could remotely be called, as Cleo nips at the spot between her neck and shoulder in a way that would make any other human fear for their lives for what she is, but False takes it as a reminder. She’s right here, now, able to touch False and chase her memories away, to chase the pictures of Cleo broken and bleeding away from her mind, and replace them with the picture of glowing green eyes boring up into her own with an intensity the living could only dream of.

“False, did you want tomato sauce, or-- oh my.” Stress’s voice sweeps over them both, startling False into pulling away, though Cleo doesn’t let her get far. Pinned to the wall and with one partner not giving a damn about the other watching, Cleo chases after her, nuzzling up under her throat with more teeth and not a care in the world.

“Um, I-- I don’t really mind,” False grits out, curling her hands into fists against Cleo’s back, and any further words are lost to them all as Cleo leans up enough to capture her lips again. As False melts, she can hear Stress giggling, the sound of her voice retreating back toward the kitchen.

“I’m sure you don’t.”

The teasing, amused sound makes even more heat rise in the blonde’s face, surely enough to color her as red as the pasta sauce Stress was asking about, and she groans. Cleo takes the opportunity to bite at her lip, a tiny little nip that she soothes with her tongue right after, before she finally pulls away. She’s grinning, a toothy smile making her look like the cat that got the canary, smug and not remotely ashamed of anything she just did.

“What was it you were going to say, Falsie?” She asks, grin widening as False just blinks at her, trying to sort her thoughts properly back together to whatever they were doing before Cleo scrambled them.

“... Uh,” False tries, coming up blank. Cleo grins wider, and leans in to gently press another kiss to her lips, this time slow and gentle. The blonde can’t help but melt right back into it, feeling herself sag into Cleo’s hold, and letting the attempt to grasp at her worries slip away.

“Come on, Stress is probably almost done cooking. You need your food.” Cleo murmurs against her mouth after a moment, seeming to hesitate pulling away, and False doesn’t want her to go either. But she hasn’t eaten since, well, she’s not entirely sure when. Sometime this morning, maybe? Cleo probably knows better than she does, in all honesty, so she lets the redhead pull away just enough to begin tugging her toward the kitchen.

Stress smiles at them both when they enter, dishing something False can’t be bothered to identify into two bowls. Their tiny little dining room is silent, for the first time in a long time; none of them really seem too keen to try and start up some kind of banter, not with knowing what’s going on outside, or more importantly  _ not _ knowing. Sitting at their two lone chairs at the table, Cleo’s long since unneeded and unused to collect dust in the corner while she sits on the countertop like the societal renegade she is, False can’t think of any of the normal quips or jokes she would make at this time.

Normally, Stress will rattle on and on about whatever’s gained her focus most recently, her eyes lit up in wonder and excitement while she talks long enough to forget her food until it’s cold, and the other two will listen with fond attention. Sometimes, Cleo will take over, giving False and Stress the chance to eat while she reads things off of her phone for them. Whether it be whatever story that had caught her attention at the time, whatever strange string of words Joe had sent her most recently, or even just her ranting about some laughably stupid thing she’d found online, it was always nice to hear her voice waft over them. The times she’d do it, it feels like she’s part of their time together for dinner, even if she can’t join them fully anymore.

But none of those things happen tonight. Thoughts of tonight and tomorrow, of the days past on either end, and the uncertainty of Scar weighs on them all. False swears she can hear Cub typing away at his computer, despite him being on the other side of the city, purely because she  _ knows _ he wouldn’t be doing anything different with Scar’s fate hung in the balance. Her food tastes like cardboard despite Stress’s ability to make anything edible, her worry for their friend far outweighing the need to register whatever it actually tastes like.

She barely registers when Cleo takes their bowls, her cold hands brushing theirs and grasping their fingers for a moment. Then she’s gone, and the running water is the reminder that they have an early day tomorrow. A glance at her phone shows her the ungodly hour they’re already at, and she can already guess they won’t get more than a few hours of sleep at best, but despite the workaholic part of her that wants to go out and pull a full all nighter without regard for her health, she knows better.

Standing and leading the way down the hall to their shared bedroom, with the echoed footsteps of her girls shadowing her all the way, False doesn’t want to take any risks. Cleo is hardier than she used to be, in some ways, even if the guilt makes the blonde want to hold her close and never let danger near her ever again. Stress, on the other hand, is still fragile even despite her muscled build. As much as she’s torn between an antsy, restless feeling for doing nothing and the need to keep going until their task is done and Scar is found, False knows better than anyone that she can’t protect her girls if she’s spread herself too thin.

And, by extension, the same goes for Scar. If they want to find him, if they want to come out on the other side of this nightmare with him alive, the three of them need to be at their best. Fate may have let her keep one person despite her mistakes already; she has no intention of tempting it twice, much less with the sound of Cub’s stressed voice echoing in her ears.

While her thoughts cascade around and around, she pulls and tosses aside her clothes on autopilot, wincing and giving Stress an apologetic smile when the brunette gives her a flat look for it. It earns her a laugh from Cleo, a welcome sound among everything else, and Stress’s ensuing, loving smile melts her heart.

“Come on, detective brain off.” Stress tells her, voice somehow firm and soft at once. False never has been able to figure out how she manages the sound of it, but she supposes that’s just another one of the things that makes her partners unique and perfect as they are. Nodding, False lets Cleo pull her into bed, mentally telling her own mind to shut up until it’s work time again as cold hands slide over her skin.

The bed dips as Stress climbs into the other side, Cleo reaching out and welcoming her in just the same as she did False. It leaves their pale, otherworldly partner caged between them, her arms holding them both close with the same kind of comfortable feeling as the cool side of the pillow in the middle of the night. It’s their usual dynamic, a sense of routine bringing a restful calm over False. They feel safer with Cleo tucked between them, with each of them on either side of her body in the odd chance someone were to ever walk in on them, she’s protected from being the first reached or seen.

Vaguely, with her head nestled up in the crook of Cleo’s neck and her body already deciding it’s time to clock out the moment she’s laid down, she registers Stress handing something to Cleo and the quiet exchange of thanks that follows. She doesn’t need to look to know it’s the spare phone they keep by the bed, the old one kept charged purely for the girl who can’t sleep with them anymore. Her heart pangs for that fact, but Cleo’s fingers brush through her hair, Stress reaching over Cleo to press her contrastly warm hand to False’s back, and she can tell the thoughts to quiet down.

In the morning, they’ll set off again, to do what they do best and solve a disappearance that never should have happened in the first place. Part of her hopes it will go better than the last one did, the cold skin under her face a constant reminder of it; and the other part of her is confident it will.

They’ll bring Scar home alive, she knows it.


End file.
